


Isla Inferno

by kanonkita



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Blow Job, Continuity Mashup, Drunk Sex, Everyone Is Gay, Food Kink, Human AU, Humanformers, It's the 80s, M/M, Military Uniforms, Military base, No Plot/Plotless, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Sickfic, Slice of Life, The Elite Trine Are Triplets, and jealous, and starscream is milking it, bureaucratic sparring, tarn is ridiculously petty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-07-07 14:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15910584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanonkita/pseuds/kanonkita
Summary: Even MORE short stories where the Decepticons are all humans, live on an island, and Starscream, as always, is pretty gay.Complementary to the ones Spoon is writing, of course.





	1. Underdressed

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Isla Paraiso](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510591) by [Spoon888](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888). 



> Someday, I'll get around to sharing my own ACTUAL human!Megastar AU, but today is not that day. :P This is just G1 human AU madness that Spoon888 started throwing at me a few months ago, and then I started throwing it back. She recently started posting hers as "Isla Paraiso" if you haven't seen it yet, and I finally decided to go ahead and start posting some of mine. There's no real continuity or overarching plot. Stuff just happens. I might post stuff that goes completely out of order. Whatever.
> 
> There's art for this [on my Tumblr](https://kanonkita.tumblr.com/post/174988082115/more-of-kiwiitins-humanformers-now-with), if you're interested. And Kiwii-tin's the one who originally made the designs for these characters with Spoon, so I'd be remiss not to link to her art as well. [Observe this beauty.](https://kiwiitin.tumblr.com/post/175615068959/sorry-i-died-for-a-bit-guys-d-but-im-back-and)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tarn and Starscream go to war over uniform regulations.

****_ A soldier is only as good as his uniform, for the uniform is the outward representation of the virtue he holds within his soul. _

Megatron knew the words well; he'd written them himself, after all. It was a basic tenet of military life that every member of his faction ought by rights be perfectly pressed and trimmed at all times, so when Tarn had come to him complaining that there were certain members of the faction exploiting loopholes in the uniform code in order to indulge their slovenly lifestyles, he had wholeheartedly agreed that they should make some changes to prevent such behavior. He had thought, however, that his chief of military police was referring to the way that half the troops wore their jackets tied around their waists or slung over their shoulders like capes instead of as actual jackets, or perhaps the ones who kept rolling their pants up into shorts during down time and then walking onto the command deck with the bottom halves of their pant legs wrinkled and smooshed to disgrace. Whatever it was he had been expecting, it wasn't this.

“The air force pants?” he asked, glancing at Tarn over the copy of the revised uniform code that his enforcer was waiting for him to approve.

“It's disgraceful,” the other man affirmed with a little shudder. “It's as if by the tightness of their pants, they wish to advertise the looseness of their lifestyles.”

Megatron had to try very, very hard to keep a straight face as he continued reading.

“You realize that the air force's pants are designed that way to make it easier to layer them under their flight suits, don't you?” he had to know.

“I see no reason that they need to wear their flight regulation uniforms on base throughout the day when they are doing nothing relating to flight maneuvers,” Tarn sniffed. “They should be required to adhere to the same standards of modesty as the rest of us during other times.”

His commander only grunted in response. Personally, he happened to like the air force's pants, and especially the way that they hugged one particular member of said air force's rear end so very neatly. That particular member was his main hesitation to approve this amendment, and not just because he would miss seeing him in tight, black spandex every day.

“You realize that this is going to be unpopular with the members of the air force,” he said. “They like that their uniform pants are so much more comfortable than everyone else's. They're going to push and try to find every loophole possible to get back to what they want to wear.”

“ _ They _ will, Lord Megatron? Or Starscream will?” Tarn wanted to know, and Megatron could hear the annoyance in his voice even if he couldn't see it on his face.

“Whatever Starscream does, half of them will copy,” his commander sighed.

“If you will turn your attention to section 23(i), my lord.”

Megatron glanced farther down the page to the paragraph in question:

_ All personnel are to ensure that clothes worn while on duty do not expose the shape of their undergarments in any way. _

The warlord opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, and then closed his mouth again.

“You will find that I have also made a requirement that all personnel wear standard issue briefs with their uniforms,” Tarn announced, puffing out his chest triumphantly. “If the little hellions wish to wear their pants so obscenely tight, then they will end up having the worst panty line known to mankind, which would be in direct violation of section 23(i). I find it unlikely that someone as vain as Starscream would dare sacrifice fashion for comfort quite so drastically.”

“Tarn, you do realize that half our troops, including  _ myself _ , wear boxers?”

“Ah, allow me to fix that, my lord.” The other man reached out to take the draft of the amendments and scrawled something on it in pen before handing it back to Megatron. The offending section now specified that all personnel ( _ excepting _ the High Commander) were required to wear military issue briefs with their uniforms.

There were still so, so many more questions that Megatron had about this, but... Perhaps it was better for Tarn to learn for himself just how difficult it was to get Starscream to wear anything that he didn't want to.

“Very well. Go ahead and make this official,” he said, handing the amendment back to Tarn.

“Yes, my lord!” the MP bowed, then saluted before hurrying away, leaving Megatron to rub a hand over the 5:00 stubble starting to come out on his chin. This... was going to be interesting.

 

~⋆⋆⋆~

 

At first, Starscream thought that it was another one of his brother's jokes. No one could really expect him to wear those horrible, flat-faced trousers every day. Megatron certainly wouldn't. How was the old pervert supposed to ogle his ass all day if it was hidden in a pair of military issue dress pants? Not to mention those  _ god-awful _ underwear.

“Ha ha, Warp,” he said, chucking the new clothes and the fresh copy of the updated uniform codes at his brother. “It's gonna take a lot more effort than that to get me into khakis.”

“ _ I  _ didn't do this!” Skywarp protested, fending off the rather ineffective projectiles. “The whole air force got new uniforms!”

Starscream frowned, trying to process this information, and then realized that Skywarp was already wearing a pair of the horrible, formless trousers. He looked ridiculous, which did not bode well for Starscream as his triplet.

“You're  _ kidding _ ,” he spat. “ _ Why!? _ ”

“Well, I don't know! I was hoping you might, being only the second-in-command and all!” his brother returned.

Starscream huffed and whirled round on one heel in a curtain of hair to go find his commanding officer.

 

~⋆⋆⋆~

 

“I'm standing with Tarn on this one,” Megatron told his second after a good fifteen minutes of whining.

Starscream just stared at him open-mouthed, his eyes so wide they looked like they were going to fall right out of his head.

“This is  _ ridiculous! _ ” he protested, waving the offensive trousers at his commander once more. “I can't even tuck these things into my boots!”

“You could try wearing regular boots for once,” Megatron suggested.

“No,” the pilot said firmly. “They've done—”

“Studies, I know,” the warlord sighed. The boy had only told him half a million times about the studies that seemed to come from just about every prestigious university in the world showing that people in positions of power garnered respect by the literal inch.

“I'm not wearing them,” Starscream told him, throwing the trousers on the floor. “I don't care what Tarn does to me, I'm not.”

“Really?” Megatron asked him, his expression turning saucy. “Because I would have thought you'd be all too eager to wear something that you don't care about if I get too eager to rip it off you.”

“I'm not,” his second repeated, his face set in a determined scowl, “ _ wearing them. _ ”

“Starscream, please,” the warlord sighed. “Just... find some way to make it work for you, and I'll... wear that thing in your closet.”

Starscream's eyes narrowed as he studied Megatron's face, seeking some sign of deceit. After a moment, he reached over and hooked the trousers up by one belt loop.

“I can make it work for me and you'll still wear it?” he confirmed.

“As long as Tarn cannot prove that you are breaking any dress code requirements,” Megatron agreed.

“You'd better not go back on this,” the boy hissed, turning to leave.

Megatron only hoped this would be worth it. He really hated wearing leather.

 

~⋆⋆⋆~

 

Tarn was humming to himself as he walked to his first meeting the next day—Handel's “Water Music.” Today at last, he would be making some progress on his goal of curbing that little welp's ego. Starscream thought he was  _ soooo _ great just because the boss paid some attention to his tight little ass... Well, they would see how Megatron liked him now that he was relegated to the wastelands of the cursed khaki with the rest of them. It was impossible to find khaki pants that made your butt look good. Tarn would know. He had tried.

The other officers greeted him as he stepped into the conference hall, and Tarn's eyes instantly snapped to Starscream. The boy was already sitting in his spot beside Megatron, his lower half hidden by the long conference table. His face broke into a broad grin when he saw the enforcer, though.

“Tarn! Good morning!” he gushed. “You're looking impeccable as always today.”

Tarn narrowed his eyes, mood sinking. He didn't know what, but Starscream had done something. It was beneath his dignity to demand that the pilot stand up and show what he was wearing, but the boy would have to stand up at some point. Then they would see who was laughing because Megatron was right here, and Megatron had signed that new policy.

Starscream just continued to smirk at him across the table as Tarn sank into his own seat.

The meeting went well enough. They discussed problems with their commissariat suppliers, the necessary measures for repairing some surveillance equipment and an outpost damaged in recent seismic activity, the air force's new training schedule and it's conflicts with other aspects of daily life... All the usual things. Tarn found himself struggling to focus as his attention was constantly pulled back to the Air Commander and wondering what he was wearing underneath the table. Little did he know it, but it was probably the closest he'd ever come to actually managing to mirror his beloved leader's own thought processes.

When they had finally concluded and everyone else started shuffling out of the meeting hall, Tarn stayed in his seat, procrastinating his departure as much as possible by pretending that he was taking more notes. He just needed to stay long enough to see what Starscream was wearing. Just long enough for the brat to stand up, and...

There it was! Megatron reached over and snagged what was probably a $300 pen from Starscream's open portfolio, and the pilot rose out of his chair to snatch it back.

Tarn blinked in surprise. Starscream  _ was  _ wearing khakis! Well, there was a first time for everything, and Starscream was going to have to learn to follow orders sooner or later or else he would get kicked out of the base, away from his beloved Megatron to somewhere he couldn't taint their glorious leader's reputation any longer...

The enforcer  _ really _ wished that Starscream would misbehave just a little more often.

And then Starscream stood up, tapping a stack of papers on the table to straighten them before shoving them into his portfolio, and Tarn got a better look at what exactly he was wearing.

“I KNEW IT!” he cried, surging to his feet.

Starscream and Megatron—the only two left in the conference room aside from him—both jumped and looked to him in confusion.

“You  _ are _ breaking the dress code!” Tarn offered by way of explanation, jabbing a finger at Starscream's legs.

“Am not!” the pilot protested. “These are military issue khakis!”

“They are never!” the MP accused. There was no way that they were. Sure, they were khaki and they had a Decepticon brand on the side, but they hugged the boy's form almost as closely as his spandex had, just in a less elastic fabric. Tarn couldn't imagine they were even comfortable, especially around the crotch.

“Yes, they are!” Starscream insisted. “I got them out of the general supply closet because the ones you gave me originally have a hole in them.”

Which was when Tarn realized what he had done.

“Those are the women's uniform pants, aren't they?” he demanded.

“Nothing in the dress code says that men can't wear the women's uniform,” Starscream sniffed. “In fact, I don't see why we have gender segregated uniforms in the first place. Megatron, don't you think that's rather regressive?”

Megatron, who had been watching the whole exchange like a particularly weary spectator at a tennis match, gave a shrug.

“As we haven't had any female recruits lately, I don't see why we need to have any women's uniforms on base at all, but I suppose it doesn't hurt to be prepared,” he remarked.

“It may not say anything about the women's uniforms, but it certainly has a thing or two to say about the tightness of your pants!” Tarn continued, determined to pin the boy down once and for all.

“Does not,” Starscream sniffed, folding his arms defiantly across his chest.

“If you had read it  _ thoroughly,” _ Tarn spat, “you would have noticed section 23(i) where it clearly states that—”

“'All personnel are to ensure that clothes worn while on duty do not expose the shape of their undergarments in any way,'” Starscream quoted. “Yes, I did read that.”

“Well, with those pants, you obviously...” Tarn trailed off in the middle of his triumph, staring in consternation at Starscream's pants. They were flush against his body, but...  _ there was no panty line _ .

“Obviously what, Tarn?” the boy smirked.

“You aren't wearing the regulation underwear, are you?” the MP demanded.

“Oo, Tarn!” Starscream brought his hand to his mouth in mock surprise. “You wouldn't be breaking section 17(c) of the sexual harassment code in which it clearly states that no personnel of any rank may ask a colleague of any rank about his or her undergarments, now would you?”

Tarn felt as though his thoughts had just run into a brick wall. He shook himself. Starscream was good, but no. He was not going to lose this today.

“I can't, but  _ he _ can,” he said calmly, pointing to Megatron. “Personal Relations, section 6(a): items under sections 10 through 24 of the sexual harassment code do not apply to couples properly declared through HR, unless a sexual assault investigation is underway.”

Starscream's eyes widened for a moment, and then his gaze snapped to Megatron, full of ice.

“You declared us to HR!?” he demanded, his voice starting to hitch into unholy octaves.

Megatron held up his hands, clearly just as mystified.

“Soundwave did it for you,” Tarn informed them. “He was sure that you would have done so yourself if you did not have so many other things on your mind, my lord.”

“Really need to pay more attention to what he's having me sign...” Megatron muttered.

“My lord?” Tarn prompted, and his commander heaved a sigh before turning to Starscream.

The pilot backed away from him, giving him a look that clearly said, 'Don't you dare!'

“Starscream, are you wearing regulation underwear beneath those?” Megatron asked.

“You can ask, but that doesn't mean I have to answer,” he hissed.

One of Megatron's eyebrows shot up.

“Tarn, would you leave us please?” he asked, and there was a different note in his voice now, one that made Starscream take a couple of careful steps back from him.

Tarn hesitated. It had just occurred to him that this might very well be going in exactly the direction he had hoped he might prevent things from going with his dress code changes.

“Tarn?” Megatron pressed.

The MP worked his jaw back and forth a moment before finally turning and leaving the room.

Well, he reasoned as he took up post just outside the door. He may not have been able to prevent this particular instance, but surely Megatron would uncover the brat's misconduct and proper disciplinary measures could be carried out.

There was a loud crash and the sound of Starscream shrieking—in terror or delight, he couldn't tell—from inside the conference room, and Tarn winced. He just hoped that Megatron wasn't going to get too creative about taking disciplinary measures into his own hands here and now.

 

~⋆⋆⋆~

 

“So,” Megatron said as the door slid shut behind Tarn, his voice dropping into a purr. “What  _ are _ you wearing beneath those pants, Starscream?”

“That's none of your business,” the boy snarled, continuing to back away.

If he thought that he could somehow escape out the door, then he had another thing coming.

“Unfortunately, you've made it my business,” the warlord smirked, moving around to stand on the side of the table that the door was on. They were facing each other across the short way now, and judging by Starscream's expression, the young fool thought he was safe.

“Oh, please,” Starscream scoffed, cocking one hip and resting a hand on it. “Like you'd really rather side with Tarn over meEAARAGH!!”

He dissolved into a screech of panic as Megatron vaulted over the table, knocking several chairs over in his haste to catch the boy before he could get back around to the door side. The warlord succeeded, too, catching the squealing pilot around the waist and lifting him up off the floor with ease.

“Let me go! Let me...  _ Megatron! _ ” his boyfriend whined, kicking and flailing as the larger man carried him back over to the table and pinned him to it, face down with his arms twisted behind his back.

“Let's have a look then,” Megatron said as he transferred both of the boy's wrists into one hand and started working his other hand down the back of his pants.

“There are cameras in here!” Starscream squealed, kicking his legs in protest.

“I'll scrub the footage later,” his commander promised, bending over him so that his lips brushed the back of the boy's head. “But for now, it looks like you need a bit of  _ discipline. _ ”

“Don't you  _ dare _ rip my—”

But Megatron was already tearing at the center seam on the back of the boy's pants. They weren't as easy to get into as leggings or sweats, but they were still no match for the warlord's mighty biceps.

“They weren't in dress code anyway,” he excused himself at Starscream's incensed yell. It had been a while since he'd destroyed any of his Air Commander's clothes, and he couldn't deny that he'd kind of missed the thrill of it.

“You are  _ not _ dry fucking me over the conference table!” Starscream yelped, twisting around in the warlord's grasp to throw the dirtiest look he could over his shoulder.

“You're right; I'm not,” Megatron agreed, pulling out a key chain with a pocket-sized bottle of lubricant attached to it.

“When did you  _ get _ that!?” the boy demanded.

“I got sick of not being able to have you when and wherever I wanted a while ago,” Megatron replied, starting to undo his own pants to free his burgeoning erection. “The surprise is that this is the first time we've had cause to use it.”

“You're such an old pervert,” Starscream huffed.

“Don't you just love it though?” the warlord whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to the boy's shoulder.

“Just get it over with!” his partner snapped, but his growing erection told a different story.

Megatron chuckled. “Let's see how uncomfortable we can make Tarn.”

 

~⋆⋆⋆~

 

Exceedingly uncomfortable. That was how Tarn felt standing outside the conference room door listening to his commanding officers have sex with each other. The MP couldn't help but wonder if the two of them were simply ignorant of the fact that the conference room door was in no way sound-proofed, or if they just didn't care.

It was some ten minutes after he'd heard Starscream crying out in orgasm that Megatron finally emerged from the conference room, his face flushed and clothes and hair slightly askew.

“I believe that Commander Starscream is in need of a fresh uniform,” he announced as he did the top button of his own uniform shirt. “As for the rest of his punishment, he is to clean the conference room from top to bottom. I leave it up to you to come up with a method of ensuring that he doesn't violate the dress code in the future.”

“Yes, my lord!” Tarn replied, trying not to look too hard at what were obviously nail marks on his leader's forearms until Megatron rolled his sleeves back down over them. Every single fiber of his being seemed to be rending in two as the urge to tell Megatron off for such unseemly behavior fought with his firm belief that nothing his glorious leader did could possibly be wrong.

“I think we should tighten up dress code regulations more often, don't you?” Megatron commented, running his hands through his short hair to straighten it out just a bit.

“I don't think that will be necessary, my lord,” Tarn replied, perhaps a bit too hastily.

“Well, I shall leave it up to your infallible judgment, Tarn,” the warlord said, clapping his MP on the shoulder. “Now, let's go fetch that uniform.”

 


	2. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream resists Megatron -- and the flu.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As y'all probably know, I love refusing-to-admit-how-sick-he-is!Starscream.

With all the griping Starscream usually did about having to go to work, Megatron would have thought that the pilot would be all-too-ready to take a genuine sick day. So, the fact that he was up, showered, and wearing most of his uniform in record time after a long night of vomiting all over Megatron's bathroom came as more than a little surprising.

“You going somewhere?” Megatron asked from the bed, eying the boy's sheet white face, the tremble in his fingers as he did up his buttons, and the way he was swaying in place where he stood.

“We have role in 20 minutes,” Starscream replied in a weak, hoarse tone, like Megatron didn’t know.

His commander frowned and slipped out from between the covers to stand beside his second. He pressed a hand to the boy's sweaty forehead, which Starscream batted away in annoyance.

“Get dressed,” he snapped, turning to leave and tripping over his own feet.

Megatron caught him and didn't let go.

“You aren't going anywhere,” the warlord rumbled, scooping the boy up into his arms. “I've half a mind to give myself a day off too after spending all night holding your hair back for you.”

“Megatron! No... I'm not...!!” Starscream protested feebly, trying unsuccessfully to wriggle out of his commander's grasp.

The older man ignored him and deposited him safely back on the bed before leaning over and starting to undo his jacket buttons.

“Stop it! I have to go to work!” the boy protested, trying to push him away. “I have to... Please!”

That last word did make Megatron stop, and when he glanced at Starscream's face, there were tears in the corners of his fever bright eyes.

“I can't... I have to go to work,” he repeated, his voice trembling.

“You have to stay here and rest, Starscream,” the older man insisted, reaching up to brush sweat-soaked hair away from his boyfriend's face.

“No!” Starscream whined, shaking his head and trying to get up again. “I'm okay. I'm strong. I can do it.”

“No, you can't,” Megatron growled, pushing him back into the mattress. “Because I will tie you to this bed if you try.”

“Why won't you just let me do my job?” the boy demanded, tears starting to flow freely down his face now and his voice hitching. “You want me to be useless, don't you? You... you want an excuse to get rid of me!”

The warlord rolled his eyes as he sank down on the mattress beside his sobbing second-in-command. What the hell was all this about, then?

“Where was this level of work ethic last month when you sprained your wrist and made Skywarp do all of your paperwork for a week?” he wanted to know.

Starscream just kept crying—loud, high-pitched sobs with his mouth stretched wide and ugly and the backs of his hands pressed into his eyes. It was a disgraceful display, but the boy's current illness made Megatron more tolerant than normal. He reached over and began caressing his hair, making soothing noises as he did.

“What's this all about, Starscream?” he asked when the crying had subsided to a thin wail.

“I just don’t feel good!” his boyfriend sniffed.

“I am aware,” Megatron told him. “Which is why I’m ordering you to stay in bed for the day.”

“I don’t wanna stay in bed!”

“Well,  _ I  _ don’t want you vomiting all over the conference room,” his commander retorted. “I want you to rest so that you can get better and do your job.”

Starscream rolled over to cry feebly into a pillow, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he did.

“I’d rather you didn’t vomit in my bed, either,” Megatron sighed, running a comforting hand over the boy’s back before pushing himself up off the mattress.

He went to the bathroom and fetched the trash can from in there, pulling the bag out as he did. It mostly held the paper towels that Starscream used to wipe down the mirrors and sink every single morning, always tutting to himself as he did about how badly they needed maids on the base. The warlord glanced briefly at the mess his second had made of the toilet last night and sighed. Starscream wasn’t going to be cleaning anything today.

Megatron was just getting down on his hands and knees with a bottle of disinfectant and a wad of paper towels when he heard what was unmistakably the slam of his front door.

“STARSCREAM!” the warlord bellowed, charging back into the bedroom with the cleaning spray out in front of himself like a handgun.

It only took a cursory examination to see that there was no pilot left anywhere in the room. He swore—mostly at himself for not expecting that—and ran to the door.

Starscream was still only partway down the hallway, but he let out a squeal and started stumbling faster when he heard Megatron coming after him.

“Nice try,” his commander told him as he came level with the boy and grabbed him around the waist.

“You’re horrible!” Starscream sobbed, going boneless as the larger man tried to pick him up. “Why do you want me to be miserable!?”

Megatron just rolled his eyes and readjusted to hold his second by the elbows instead so he could drag him back into the bedroom. Starscream kicked his feet against the stones, and whimpered pathetically.

“Don’t leave me!” he wailed as his commander dragged him back across the threshold. “I don’t wanna be alone! It’s so cold!”

The warlord blinked down at him in confusion.

“My bedroom has a  _ wall _ made of  _ lava _ ,” he reminded the boy. “I highly doubt you’ll be in danger of hypothermia just because I’m not here.”

Starscream just kept crying about how cold he was, though, and how much he didn’t want to be alone as Megatron finally got him out of his uniform and back into the bed.

“You'll be just fine,” Megatron sighed, sinking down beside him on the mattress. “I’m not going to leave you alone the whole day.”

“Will too!” the boy accused.

“No, I won’t. I’ll come and check on you as often as I can,” the older man promised.

“You’ll forget,” Starscream whined. “You  _ always _ forget! You always—”

“Starscream,” Megatron interrupted sternly as the pieces suddenly started falling into place. “I am not your father.”

Starscream just glared at him, an effect somewhat ruined by his blotchy cheeks and the snot running from one nostril. The warlord sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

Sometimes, he wished that Starscream’s father were still alive so that he could have a few choice words with the man. It was amazing how people with as much money as Starscream's parents had managed to screw their children up so badly. Couldn't they have afforded parenting lessons? Or at least sent the little demons to counseling when they were done with them? Why was  _ he _ the one who kept having to deal with their shortcomings?

“When have I  _ ever _ forgotten about you, Starscream?” Megatron finally broke the silence.

“Shore leave last spring,” the pilot answered.

“I didn’t  _ forget  _ you that time,” his commander contradicted. “I just assumed you were back at the base like I’d ordered you to be. How was I to know you were still in the bar?”

Starscream whined displeasure at the defeat and wiped at his nose.

“I will come and check on you at least once an hour,” Megatron repeated. “And if I can’t make it, I’ll send one of your brothers.” Then, after some thought, he added, “And I have much better excuses than a stomach flu to get rid of you if I wanted.”

“It’s not funny,” the boy grumbled, pulling the covers up over his face.

Megatron sighed and leaned down to embrace the Starscream-shaped lump beneath the blanket.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered, pushing some fabric aside to press a kiss to one overly warm shoulder.

“If you  _ were  _ my dad, you’d have better taste in blankets,” came the muffled reply.

Megatron gave him a final squeeze and went to collect his own uniform. When he finally slipped out the door, the boy was peering at him soulfully over the edge of the covers.

“One hour,” Starscream called nervously. “You promised.”

“Not a minute sooner,” the warlord assured him, blowing a quick kiss before he shut the door.


	3. Sweet Tooth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream's post-coital waffle craving leads to sticky antics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love drunk, giggly Starscream. Just gotta say.

Growing up, waffles were a regular breakfast staple for Starscream and his brothers. They were always hearty and made of whole grains and, like just about everything their mother fed them, fat free. The triplets could have syrup on them if they liked, but it was measured out for them drop by drop because too much sugar would rot their teeth and make them even more unmanageable than they already were.

Growing up, Starscream had hated waffles. 

He still remembered the first time they'd served them at breakfast in the frat house at college. He'd taken one look at the morning menu and sneered his way straight out of the building.

It wasn’t long after when Skyfire had finally introduced him to real waffles—the crispy, airy rounds that the rest of the world knew. 

“What's all this other stuff for?” Starscream had asked, gesturing to the cut strawberries, bananas, nuts, and whipped cream set out along with the syrup. 

“Whatever you want,” the older man had told him with that gentle smile of his.

Of course, Starscream's favorite thing to do with waffles had ended up being just to fill each and every hole to the brim with syrup, but over the years, he'd found uses for the other toppings, too. 

“Open your mouth,” Megatron ordered, and Starscream did, allowing his commander to spray a load of thick, white aerosol whipped topping onto his tongue. Some of it overflowed, and the pilot giggled as he used his hand to shovel it back into his mouth. 

“Shush!” Megatron warned, amusement crinkling his own features. “Someone will hear you!”

“Who cares?” Starscream challenged indistinctly through his mouthful. “Your base, your kitchen.”

“My Air Commander with Reddiwhip behind his ear,” Megatron chuckled, leaning in to nip at the bit of cream that had somehow end up on the shell of Starscream's left ear. The younger man giggled again and squirmed at the rush of hot breath. 

They were seated on the floor between a row of counters and the ovens in the mess hall with just about every possible waffle topping imaginable spread out around them, along with several empty bottles that had, about an hour ago, held some excellent wine. Starscream suspected the cooks had been saving it for Megatron's 50th birthday, or something, but it had gone quite well with the post-coital waffles he and his commander had been prevented from making when they’d discovered there was no waffle iron anywhere in the kitchen. Not that they’d been particularly bothered by this.

“I want more strawberries,” Starscream announced as Megatron moved from nibbling his ear to licking the side of his neck. 

“I'd rather eat you again,” the older man rumbled against his throat.

“Well, I'm hungry still, and I want the strawberries,” Starscream returned, caressing the back of his commander's head indulgently as he tried to reach far enough to get the bowl of fruit perched on the edge of the counter. His fingertip had just snagged the rim of the bowl when Megatron suddenly wrapped his arms round the pilot's middle and yanked him up into his lap. 

“Megs!” Starscream gasped, dissolving into giggles again as the bowl crashed to the floor, sending bright red berries in every direction.

“If you're still hungry, I've got more for you to eat,” Megatron told him, dark eyes sparkling with mischievous mirth as he tightened the grip on his boyfriend.

“I wanted waffles so I could eat syrup,” Starscream reminded him, rearranging his limbs so that he could straddle the warlord’s thighs more comfortably.

“Think we could arrange something,” Megatron purred. 

He put a hand on Starscream's lower back, pushing him forward so the young man's groin was flush with his stomach. This meant that the rather obvious lump in Megatron's own pants was now pressing against his boyfriend's backside. 

“You're a freak of nature,” Starscream told him, grinding languidly against his hardening dick. “How the fuck are you still hard?”

“It just happens when I'm with you,” Megatron told him with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Well, my ass is closed for business,” the pilot told him. 

“Fine by me.”

Megatron pushed him forward off himself—not roughly, but Starscream was unsteady enough that he managed to land in strawberries anyway. 

“If this stains, you owe me new pajamas,” he warned, and then reached for an untainted berry lying nearby (the five second rule didn't exist in the world of drunk Starscream). When he turned back to Megatron, the older man was in the middle of undoing his pants. 

“Why would I suck your nasty, salty cock when I've got all these tasty things?” the pilot asked as he watched his commander pump himself up to full size. 

“You wanted syrup, didn't you?” Megatron reminded him. And then, he grabbed the syrup bottle and began drizzling it over his erection like hot fudge on the world's least appetizing banana split. 

Starscream sucked his strawberry and watched critically as the mess oozed its way along his commander’s shaft, making its way through liberal amounts of graying fuzz to drip seductively onto his pants and the floor.

“If we let it dry, do you think it’d take the hair with it when we peel it off later?” the pilot asked, trying to hide the beginnings of his own erection as he sat up and scooted forward.

“You’d better clean it off before it does,” the older man told him, eyebrow raised.

Starscream hummed with interest and offered out his slobbery strawberry. Megatron nipped it from his fingers and spat the stem and leaves to the side while he fondled his balls in anticipation.

The younger man smirked and leaned in to press a kiss under his commander’s jaw as he took his hot, sticky cock in hand.

“Eugh, I can’t even pump it,” he complained, glancing down at the strings of syrup now dripping from his fingers.

Megatron, still chewing, hummed thoughtfully and reached for the Reddiwhip, squirting a foamy line along himself.

“Try that,” he suggested.

Starscream wrapped his fingers around the older man again, smearing the cream up and down the length. This time, his palm moved with relative ease. He tightened his grip, and Megatron groaned, one hand coming up to undo the buttons on the younger man’s pajama top. Starscream took a moment to appreciate the fact that he was actually unfastening them instead of just popping them off before leaning in to kiss him on his finally strawberry-free mouth.

Large, sticky hands crawled up the sides of his waist, pushing his shirt out of the way and brushing hickies Megatron had left on his second’s chest and stomach earlier in the evening. Starscream dragged his thumb across his commander’s tip and smiled when the other man grunted into his mouth, the hands on his waist tightening.

“More cool whip,” the pilot requested, pulling back and starting to lower himself into position. 

Megatron obliged with another stripe of aerosoled cream. Starscream propped himself on his elbows and smirked up at his boyfriend as he leaned forward to suck a blob off his tip. The other man grinned down at him, eyelids hooded and cheeks flushed.

“Don’t waste any,” he ordered.

“Keep your sticky hands out of my hair,” Starscream advised in return before licking a swath up Megatron’s sticky length.

He’d never  _ disliked _ his commander’s taste, per se, but there was certainly something to be said for getting sweetness and cream while doing this instead of saltiness and musk. The pilot made an appreciative sound as he pressed his lips to the base of the warlord’s cock and started licking and sucking around it. Megatron’s thighs twitched and tensed around his head, and Starscream felt his own erection start to throb. As he made his way back up to the tip, he slid one hand down his own pants to stroke himself absently.

“I can…” Megatron offered, and Starscream shook his head. 

“Later,” he said, a little breathlessly.

He was more than content to exact his climax  _ after  _ watching Megatron ride out his own. His commander gave him a lopsided grin and picked up the syrup. Reddiwhip in one hand and syrup in the other, the warlord decorated himself once more, and Starscream moved in for the main event. 

The older man groaned and twitched with pleasure as the pilot slowly swallowed him, savoring every inch of sweet arousal. The whipped cream smeared itself across his cheeks as he went and dribbled down his chin. Starscream reached up to brush it out of the way, so it wouldn’t shoot up his nose when he inhaled, and wrapped his hand around what bits of Megatron he couldn’t fit in his mouth as he did.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Megatron rumbled, flicking some cream off his second’s eyebrow and bringing it up to his mouth.

Starscream hummed in agreement and watched his commander’s face contort in enjoyment before he started to move, stilling his attentions to his own arousal so he could focus. Megatron’s breathing grew more and more ragged as he continued, and Starscream couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his commander enjoy a blowjob this much. 

Then again, there was usually at least a small part of Starscream that held back while doing this because he  _ didn’t  _ especially enjoy dragging his tongue through stale, sweaty pubic hair, however much he might enjoy the way it made Megatron twitch.

“Starscream…” his commander moaned, one hand coming up as if to grip his second’s head and then dropping to his shoulder instead as he apparently remembered the other man’s warning.

Starscream pulled his other hand out of his pants and motioned to the syrup. Megatron got the hint and drizzled another helping of thick, amber fluid down his shaft the next time the pilot pulled back. The effort was somewhat uncoordinated, and Starscream found himself with a stripe of the stuff across his nose.

“God, you’re beautiful,” his boyfriend breathed, and Starscream felt his erection pulse urgently. He squirmed, wriggling his ass in the air and whimpering with want around Megatron, but didn’t dare touch himself for fear of going off too quickly.

Eager to get his own due, the pilot reached his free hand into his commander’s underwear and started squeezing and massaging his balls, pressing two fingers rhythmically into the smooth skin between them and Megatron’s asshole, just as he dug the tip of his tongue into the other man’s tip and  _ sucked _ . Megatron’s whole body tensed and jerked, and Starscream felt both hands grip the back of his head at once, holding him in place as his commander pushed forward and shot thick, bitter cum down his throat—a strange contrast to the sickly sweet fluids already coating it.

Starscream continued massaging him with both hands until the other man went slack, his breathing slowing to normal. The hands in his hair uncurled, and Starscream made a noise of complaint when they tried to take several strands of hair with them.

He pulled back, wiping syrup and cream on his shirtsleeve, but didn’t even get a chance to complain before Megatron was capturing his mouth again. The warlord always did seem to enjoy a chance to taste himself on his second’s tongue, but this time he seemed even more eager than usual to explore every single crevasse of the pilot’s mouth as he pulled him close and then started tipping him back onto the strawberry-strewn floor.

“Your turn,” he whispered when they parted, fingers already brushing the younger man’s erection.

Five minutes later, Starscream was twitching up into his mouth, one leg wrapped around his commander’s shoulder and the other kicking against the floor in time to his ejaculations. His shrieks petered out into heavy breathing as Megatron swallowed his cum and gave his slackening tip a final lick. The warlord stayed where he was for a moment, doubtless enjoying the sight of his second stretched out half-naked on the kitchen floor with syrup and cream in his hair and smeared across his tawny skin, and then he crawled up to lick something off the younger man’s jaw.

“God, I love waffles,” Starscream sighed, taking the opportunity to smear some syrup into the back of his commander’s hair.

“I’ll have to look into ordering a waffle iron,” Megatron murmured, sliding one hand up to cradle the pilot’s head while the other arm snaked around his slender waist. “Maybe next time we can actually eat some when we’re done playing.” 

The younger man giggled and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s neck, allowing himself to be pulled into a crushing embrace, just as a light flicked on out in the mess hall.

Both men froze, staring at the serving window that separated them from the other room.

“Someone in here?” a deep voice called out.

“Shit!” Starscream hissed, scrambling away from his commander and trying to do up the buttons on the front of his pajama slacks with sticky, fumbling fingers.

A large hand grabbed his wrist before he could do even one button. The pilot giggled as he and his commander ran, bent double, toward the back exit.

“Fraggit, Blitzwing! Is that you again!?” the voice demanded, and heavy footsteps approached the door from the mess hall just as the two officers pushed through the other one and out into the supply hallway.

“What happened to ‘my base, my kitchen?’” Starscream snickered breathlessly as Megatron frantically shoved himself into his underwear.

“You said that, not me!” the other man reminded him. “And besides, that doesn’t count when it’s also  _ my boyfriend _ laying with his dick out in the middle of a pile of smashed strawberries.”

Starscream just laughed harder as they dove for the service elevator, bare feet slapping stickily on the concrete.


End file.
